Shattered Glass
by Lli
Summary: A wee collection of vignettes about the HDM characters after the end of The Amber Spyglass. New chapter is at the beginning just to make it confusing. Mostly sad, mostly about love and loss, but hey, so where the books! Enjoy m'dears.
1. Wasteful

Dr. Mary Malone  
  
Dr. Mary Malone swirled her tea around the bottom of her stained mug. It had long since gone cold and there was no one around for her to cajole into making her another cup. She wrinkled her nose and glared the black bird sitting on her monitor into silence. Putting the cup back down, she twirled in her chair.  
  
The bird reached out his head, nuzzling her fingertips while she gnawed her bottom lip and tapped her fingers lightly on the keyboard. Click clack. No one would believe her. It was a waste of her time. But no more so then many other things she had done. But.  
  
Will had gone away. Serafina, her witch sister, was forever beyond her reach. Lyra was wandering the streets somewhere, happiness following like her shadow, as was her way. The Mulefa were living their lives as ever, with the love and compassion she had been so lucky to feel.  
  
Was that a waste? No, of all things, friendship and love was the least wasteful; even if all she had left now was the black bird sitting on her monitor and the bitter-beautiful memories hanging behind a muslin veil in the back of her mind. Those were all she needed. She smiled to herself, watching her reflection, translucent over the unbelievable words on a glowing screen. Those were all she would ever need.  
  
There was one memory, though, that she would never smile for. Not when she could still hear the cracking of their broken hearts so loud it made her ears ring. But still, wasn't it better to risk loving and being loved, then to never love at all? Yes. And she knew they would be the first to say so.  
  
That was all she needed to know. Waste or not, the world would know. The printer whirred and clicked, shuffling paper and painting it in the wet ink of dreams and hope, death and life, hate and love.  
  
Some might think their love a waste, might think love in general a waste. But how could she, when she saw how it saved worlds beyond count? How could she, when she had felt the truest love of all, seeping off them into the very soul of the universe, making it live once more? She shook her head and hugged herself. No, of all things, love was the least wasteful. 


	2. Make it Beautiful

The Gallivespians  
  
The suburbs of the dead were just as Salmakia remembered them: the same never-ending, miserable sprawl of lean-tos and dilapidated shacks, deaths wandering through the mud. And all covered in a heavy, lingering fog so thick, had she been alive she could have cut it.  
  
The Gallivespian glanced at her companion. The ever opinionated Chevalier was uncharacteristically silent, his fierce eyes sad. But he walked with pride, his chin high and his shoulders set, though the both of them together were barely more then ten centimeters tall. Like her, he knew exactly what was coming. She nudged him with her elbow. Immediately she had his full attention.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Come, run with me to the dock." She tugged his hand.  
  
"Run?"  
  
"Yes. Run. One last time." She pulled harder.  
  
Feeling no resistance, Salmakia ran. Ran and ran, through the mud, through air so thick it would have swallowed her, had she not been flying like this.  
  
People often run for joy, like wild spirits they fly over green meadows or through ancient leafy halls. Salmakia ran like this, her fierce, proud little body flinging itself through the misery and despair, refusing to end like all the other sorry souls. She would be free. She would return to the world of the living, her atoms mingling with a million others in a million different worlds, giving her life.  
  
Behind her, the Chevalier flew as well. Salmakia's love of life was intoxicating, even in the suburbs of the Dead. Her hair whistled beside his ear, pale and shining like the sun that would never shine here. His doubts melted away behind him in all the little eddies of air, and his feet barely touched the slimy earth beneath them. Rebirth was coming and it would be wonderful. Together they would make it beautiful.  
  
They arrived at the dock breathless, their ghost bodies glowing, so close to being alive again. The boatmen nodded to them. He remembered them, them and the ragged boy and girl who had been their companions. The ones who had found a way out of the land of the dead.  
  
"You've come back. Not so willingly this time though." The boatman reached out a hand to help them on. "But at least you have a way out now."  
  
Salmakia just smiled. They all knew there was nothing to say.  
  
The boat pushed away from the dock silently. The two Gallivespians and their guide crossed the river in amiable silence, Salmakia and Chevalier leaning against each other, patiently waiting. Rebirth was coming and it would be wonderful. Together they would make it beautiful. 


	3. Love Him as Well

Marissa Coulter  
  
Marissa Coulter fell in silence. Below her Metatron screamed curses in a thousand languages, and beside her Lord Asriel had twined his fingers through hers. Neither had anything to say. They knew this had been coming.  
  
Curled in her hair, her golden monkey daemon breathed long, deliberate breaths. She was calm, and therefore so was he. Nothing really mattered now. She had done her job. Lyra was safe. Lyra would go on and grow up, becoming brilliant and beautiful like her mother. But never as cold and cruel, and for this Marissa silently thanked Fate.  
  
And still she could not help but feel wretched. Of course, she thought silently, she was going to be falling through an abyss for all eternity. That could make someone feel rather depressed. But it wasn't that. Her unwillingly sadness was wrenched from her heart due to all the times she had failed her daughter. Memories flew before her mind's eye and silent tears burned their way down her face, falling away into oblivion.  
  
But she had tried, God she had tried. After years of ignoring the girl she had tried to make it better, tried to make it up. She'd always known it was too late. That she'd grown up too slowly. But she'd been desperate, drugging Lyra, kidnapping Lyra, anything to keep her child with her for just a few minutes more. All the while knowing she'd be found out and the girl taken away. Taken away before Marissa could tell her she loved her. For all the horrible things she'd done, she really did love Lyra.  
  
And lord, how she was sorry. Sorry for all the people she'd killed, sorry for all the cruel words she'd said, and sorry for the kind ones she hadn't. Sorry for all things she'd never done and all times she'd done too much. Disgusted by how wrong and twisted her soul was, and how even Metatron, the all-powerful archangel who could see all, hadn't been able to see any spark of goodness in her. If only she'd had one more chance to show Lyra how much she loved her, she swore she'd do it right.  
  
But all she had now was Asriel and she still loved him as well. So as they fell, she turned to him and hugged him just to show him she did, silent tears burning their way down her face, and falling away into oblivion. 


	4. Dance Across the Sky

Ruta Skadi  
  
Ruta Skadi perched herself on the cliff, her pale legs swinging over the edge. The rebellion was over, though the outcome was uncertain. God had vanished, and Metatron was plunging for eternity through the abyss. For now the rebels had won.  
  
But there would be others. Others thinking themselves all powerful; perfect creations of a figurative God. It would always be like this, someone, or something, wanting absolute power, and not caring whose lives were torn to bits in the process.  
  
The witch queen closed her eyes. This was not the time to think of such things. The night was beautiful, and the worlds had their temporary freedom, thanks to the love of two children-no-longer-children, and she was alive and watching the aurora blaze overhead.  
  
Her black clothes swirled around her as she stood up, stretching her hands to the heavens. The stars were veritable jewels and the northern lights twisted through them, like a thousand silken scarves in the wind. She twirled herself around, dancing in time to the pulsating lights. She was a beautiful daughter of the night, caught in a sea of colour.  
  
The colours became more vivid, their silent music becoming faster and faster. She raced to keep up, her feet a blur on the edge of the world. Artic wind flew across the sky to join her, coursing through her clothes, making them spread like wings behind her, and running through her veins like wildfire. She would dance until life itself ended.  
  
Her black hair wild around her, and her spirit flying in the wind, Ruta Skadi danced. Danced for all the things that were dying and for all the things that were living. Dancing for love and hate and joy and sorrow. Dancing for nothing else but the sake of dancing.  
  
On and on she danced. Dancing until there was nothing left to dance on. Even then, as she fell through the night, through the unbelievable colours, she danced. She danced as the wind bit her, and as her neck cracked on the hard grey stone. And as her life slipped out of her, and her eyes dimmed, her smile danced across her fine, pale features. She had lived life without complaint, and now she was free to dance forever. No longer earth-bound, she would dance until life itself ended. 


	5. If She Had Been Anyone Else

Serafina Pekkala  
  
Serafina Pekkala flew through the night without purpose, her hair streaming behind her despondently. There was no life left in this lonely witch queen. She was alone on a cold night with no one but her daemon for company. The air was still and stale around her as she flew listlessly through the stars.  
  
If she'd been human, she would have cried. If she'd been unwise, she would have made herself fall. If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed her sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire. But she would never be anyone but herself. Alone, beautiful, immortal and wise, a helping hand for those in need. And how it sickened her, though it never had before. Now though, now she wanted someone to comfort her. Comfort her now that she was choking on bloody tears and blind with sorrow.  
  
But there was no one. There would never be anyone, not like that. Yes, of course, there had been, once. But he was dying. He was human. And it broke their hearts to see each other. Him because she was still young and beautiful, like he wished he could be for her, and her because he was old and human, like she wished she could be for him.  
  
She knew it was selfish. She knew there were others in worse states then she. She should be comforting them, not bemoaning her own problems. But tonight she couldn't help herself, she couldn't take any more pain.  
  
She had seen Lyra cry all the slivers of her broken heart out onto the bloody grass. She had seen Mary leave behind her dear Mulefa friends, grief in every movement she made. She had seen Will force down all his pain and guilt and sorrow and close the last window, trying not to vomit all his feelings up again. She had seen people die pointlessly and hearts be broken without need. She had seen love caught and killed and hung to dry. She had felt all the sorrow of the world, and she knew she wasn't the only one. There was a little child-no-longer-a-child in Oxford who felt it all as well. And just the thought of someone else feeling like this, carved another gash in her already shredded heart.  
  
If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed the world's sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire. 


	6. Jigsaw Puzzle

Ama  
  
Ama pushed her way through the overgrown path, long leafy tentacles reaching out to snag her skin as she twisted through. In a matter of weeks the mountain path had disappeared under a bloated sea of over-eager plants.  
  
Ama vividly remembered all the times she had walked this path to the "holy" lady's cave, the food in her basket, her eyes wide with excitement, her whole self filled with anticipation of seeing the exiled "wise" woman. How she had waited and waited to catch just one glimpse of the lady's enchanted daughter.  
  
And then, how she'd met that fierce boy who was missing two fingers, but had a knife to cut through worlds. How together they had saved that enchanted street urchin princess, from her wicked, beautiful mother; the horrible lying woman whose daemon ripped apart live bats for the fun of it.  
  
No one would ever believe her if she told them. So she didn't, locking it away in her mind until she was too lonely for words. And then, spreading the memories out around her like bits of a colourful jigsaw puzzle, she'd look them over fondly, wishing she could see the puzzle in full. How beautiful it would be. Lovely and sad and forever weeping silver tears for the human race; a race so full of itself, and it version of the world, that it couldn't cope with the beauty around it. Opting instead for destruction, destruction of all the beautiful things it would never see, of all the feelings it would never know, and all the music it would never hear. And how the worlds wept.  
  
There were some things, thought Ama, that could never be fixed or rewritten. There were some things that no magic or love or miracle or repentance could bring back. No matter how hard anyone tried. There were some things that everyone noticed, and when they died, they were cried for and talked about for centuries after. These were always the important things, the things that really mattered.  
  
But there were some things that died without anyone knowing, just vanishing one day, everyone feeling the loss, without knowing why. And who cried for these things? These things no one noticed or cared for. Who would remember them, when they had all gone?  
  
Ama pushed her way through the overgrown path. In a matter of weeks the mountain path had disappeared under a bloated sea of over-eager plants. 


	7. Don't get Lost

Will  
  
Above Will's head, waves chased each other into the sand, pounding out a ferocious rhythm. Turning, Will dove deeper into the sea. Seaweed and coral flickered by as he swam deeper. The sunlight twisted and writhed around him, dancing around him in an undistinguishable pattern. Brightly coloured fish fluttered through the light, somehow matching its dance. Through all this Will swam, deeper and deeper, until his lungs filled with water and salt and he flew up to the surface, gasping.  
  
And then down again he dove. Again and again, going deeper and deeper every time. Swimming faster, forcing himself through the water as though to rub all his memories away like dead skin; and then rushing to the surface, out of breath and once again grasping at the memories, trying to hold them to him, bring them all to life again, fervently praying they would never leave. Only to dive again and again.  
  
Finally, exhausted, he just floated, letting the salty wind scratch at him with prickling claws. Gulls screamed over-head and waves leapt over him, eager to beat the others to shore. Closing his eyes he let it all float around him, drift away from him like streamers in a breeze.  
  
And then again, he dove. Always deeper, always farther, then the time before. And always coming to the surface just before anything happened. His mother had told him not to get lost as he'd left the house. On the way here he'd almost laughed. He was already lost, he went to the sea to try and find himself again, but never actually succeeding.  
  
He dove again, throwing himself through the water, farther and farther until he could no longer see the dancing light, and the drumming of the waves evolved into a far more complex song. He should go up, up before he lost it all, but there was water all around him. There was no up or down, just music and water. And blackness.  
  
Will struggled out of his cheap cotton sheets. In his sleep he had tied them around him in uncountable knots. Collapsing onto the floor, he struggled over to open his window. The night air was tinged with the smell of salt and floating on it came the pounding of the waves. Even though he lived in a small town in the middle of England. He tumbled out his window, following the rhythms, he had no choice, there was no up or down, just music and water. And blackness. 


	8. Goodnight Moon

Lyra  
  
Lyra climbed, monkey like, onto the roof of Jordan College. Her eyes were dry, she had nothing left to cry, and her smile was firmly tacked in place. The night air was cool against her face, and she was glad of the change. Jordan College was big and beautiful, but the air inside tended to be suffocating. At least, it was now that she'd come back. Everything seemed to be suffocating now that she'd come back.  
  
But she was happy. Not ecstatic and wild like before she'd gone, but happy. And happy was better then what most had. The clay tiles were chipped and bumpy, sliding in and out of place like loose dragon scales, but her feet knew where they were going. Above her the night stretched on forever, like a sequined, velvet curtain, hiding her from the world. The stars were so bright she could feel their crystalline warmth on her bare arms. Pausing for a moment she pulled her hair back to let their light wash across her pale face.  
  
Cicadas sang from far away on the reality-obsessed ground, their voices floating up around her in her airy palace. Cocooned in music and fresh air, Lyra Silvertongue climbed her tower, every step taking her higher into the night. Into the sky she climbed, farther than the tower's peak would ever go. But she had left it, reality and gravity far behind. Her feet found foot holds in the clouds and her hands grasped the shining crescent moon. Light from a thousand different worlds dappled her skin as she climbed onto her moon.  
  
She lay down in the crook of the moon's arm, resting her head on its shoulder. Its light wrapped around her like invisible sheets, singing silent promises of escape and safety. Lyra's eyelids were heavy and the moon's promises were beautiful and sweet. At least she could escape all her memories for the night. Escape into the beautiful dreams the moon sang of. She had climbed to the moon, and above her the night stretched on forever, like a sequined, velvet curtain, hiding her from the world. 


End file.
